Death and Other Quandaries
by beesandbrews
Summary: It's just another night for Jack when he's mugged by an alien with predictable consequences. Compared to Ianto, he got off easy. Contains temporary character death and angst. Beta by amand-r.


"Ianto!" Jack called through gritted teeth. "A little help here!" He staggered his way into the body of the Hub, one hand pressed hard against his belly, and collapsed to his knees. He looked down at the red stain spreading from beneath his fingers saturating his clothes and frowned. "That is not good."

"Jack?" Ianto stepped out of the captain's office, a stack of file folders in his hands, caught sight of Jack swaying on his knees, dropped the paperwork, and ran. "What happened?"

"Later." Jack was dangerously pale and sweating, barely clinging to consciousness. "I don't feel so good."

Ianto squatted at Jack's side and wrapped his arm protectively around the stricken man, preparing to carefully lift him to his feet. "Owen, we need Owen," Ianto muttered as he hauled Jack upright and started to walk him toward the medical bay.

"No time," Jack rasped. "Sofa. Closer."

"Right." Ianto's mind raced as he guided Jack down onto the sofa and gingerly helped him out of his coat, flinching as he saw the bloodstained inner lining. Panic made his thoughts spin uselessly and he fought against a rising need to curl into himself as the copper stench of blood brought back stark memories of Lisa dying while he watched.

iYou can do this./i He pushed away Jack's bloody clothing, exposing a jagged rent in the flesh underneath. Stabbed, all the way through, though with what kind of weapon, he couldn't say, and, he supposed, it didn't matter anyway. The important thing was to get Jack stabilized until he could get proper medical treatment. "I need to get some things." Jack was fading, consciousness receding with each milliliter of blood seeping out of the awful wounds. "I need you to stay with me, Jack."

"Always." Jack gave him a wan smile. "It'll be all right, Ianto. Just you see."

Ianto returned the smile, in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and bolted for the medical bay. Blood, there was so much blood. He needed pressure dressings. Fluids. Something to clean away the mess. He tore at drawers and cupboards, gathering supplies. He carried them back to Jack at a run, dumping the heap on the table.

"Hurts. Stay with me?" Jack's voice was plaintive and soft as he echoed Ianto's earlier plea. The hint of smile dissolved into a grimace of pain that tore at Ianto as he gingerly pressed the first of a series of compresses into place.

"I'm sorry. So sorry." Ianto reached up to caress Jack's temple leaving bloody fingerprints behind.

"This isn't the way I wanted you to find out," Jack whispered. His face had gone sickly white underneath his tan, making the pallor that much more ghastly.

The bandage was nearly in place and already soaked crimson. Ianto fastened it down and looked up at Jack's odd comment only to see the light fade from his brilliant blue eyes.

"Jack! No! Please... no." Ianto pushed Jack down onto his back and, gaze flicking furtively from chest to face, tried to asses his condition. He picked up a wrist and felt for a pulse. Finding nothing, he stared, mind blanking for precious seconds, before he hauled Jack's head into the proper position for CPR, huffing futile, hyperventilated puffs into Jack's mouth while slamming his fist against a chest that no longer rose and fell on its own.

Realizing he was panicking, Ianto pulled himself away and forced himself to calm down. "Do it properly." He took a deep breath, flooding his own oxygen-starved lungs, and started over, counting breaths and chest compressions, even as he realized Jack's lips were growing cold under his.

The sob, the one that had been threatening to erupt from his throat ever since he first saw the rent in Jack's belly, erupted. He howled, his pain a living thing that clawed its way out of his chest as he cradled Jack's corpse in his arms. After a while, the grief storm crested and ebbed away, leaving Ianto feeling numb and disconnected. He looked down at Jack, at the blood and the mess, and realized he still had work to do.

He kissed Jack, one last soft chaste meeting of their mouths. He knew he should carry Jack to the medical bay and make a proper job of it, but he couldn't quite manage, at least not yet. And Owen would still have to do his bit. Do an autopsy. Make everything official. But he didn't want the others to see him like this, bloody and defeated. Methodically, Ianto stripped away the filthy and torn outer shirt, then the vest, and trousers, and briefs. He would wash Jack's body and dress him properly in fresh clothing, giving him back his dignity.

Back to the medical bay, this time for a basin of warm water, peroxide, and clean towels. A wave of nausea roiled his stomach and threatened to overwhelm him. Ianto stood at the sink, gripping the edges until they cut into his palms. The pain helped him focus. He had dealt with death before. It was part of his job to hide the bodies. To clean up after the aliens and monsters. But this was different. This was Jack. The roaring in his ears and the trembling in his knees receded to a manageable level, and he gathered up his cleaning supplies.

Peroxide turned the crimson blood brown and bubbly. Warm water and soap washed the stains away. Soon Jack's skin was clean again and only the sticky red gore on the cushions remained. Ianto knew he would have to deal with that as well, but he looked down on Jack's empty features and knew it could wait, at least a little while. He sprayed down the stains so they wouldn't set, and covered the worst of them with a towel before stripping away his soiled shirt and waistcoat so he wouldn't re-sully Jack. He reached for the plastic-wrapped packet of medical scrubs, but his strength, and his determination to complete his task, had deserted him. He needed a few minutes. Time alone to say his private goodbyes, not those to an employer, but the ones one made to a lover and friend.

Ianto gathered Jack's body into his arms and cradled it protectively. He buried his nose in Jack's hair, memorizing his scent. He kissed him repeatedly, murmuring soft reassurances that he would care for him. See that he received a proper funeral with honors, and a burial someplace he could see the stars. "As if the dead can see." Ianto laughed hysterically at the absurdity and began to sob again.

Underneath his fingers, Jack's forearm twitched. Ianto's heart quickened, but then he remembered that the body took time shutting down. It was nothing. Autonomic response. The brain sputtering to a halt, issuing random synapses, and the body responding in kind. He swore himself a fool for wishful thinking, and wiped away tears with the back of his free hand. Five more minutes. He'd give himself five more minutes with Jack before the others could come and push him back into his role as errand boy. He ran his hand down Jack's arm, laced their fingers together, and closed his eyes, suddenly more tired than he could bear.

Jack gasped. Ianto's eyes flew open and he stared down in disbelief, his arms automatically tightening as Jack convulsed in his lap, color flooding back into cheeks gone waxy and pale.

"Jack?" Ianto said, his voice barely audible. He couldn't quite breathe properly and his mouth had gone painfully dry. He swallowed, trying to bring moisture to his throat and tongue, and choked as his brain fought to deal with the impossible. His blood began to roar in his ears again. He wasn't getting any air to his lungs.

"Stayed with me," Jack whispered.

Ianto grasped at Jack's voice and used it to hang on to his receding consciousness. "How?" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're okay. Oh god, you're okay."

Jack blinked rapidly, realized he was naked and Ianto nearly so, and grinned. "Kinky. Didn't know you had a thing for necrophilia." His smile faded as he saw the raw relief in Ianto's eyes. "Sorry, maybe not the best time for that joke."

Ianto's breath was coming in quick gasps, lungs still not quite working properly. His color rose dangerously as his hand strayed to Jack's chest, pressing a palm against a heartbeat that grew stronger with each repetition.

Jack frowned. "Hey, come here. Didn't I tell you I'm hard to get rid of?" He shifted and pulled Ianto's face down closer, channeling a little of his life essence into the kiss.

"Like a bad penny," Ianto said when they finally parted. He smiled tentatively as he allowed himself to believe, but the pensive expression didn't quite leave his eyes.

Jack attempted a retort, but it was lost in a fit of dry coughing.

Ianto eased out from under him, reluctantly breaking contact, and retrieved a pair of water bottles from the kitchenette. When he returned, Jack was looking under the towel masking the bloodstains, his lips pursed as he regarded the cushions. "Oops."

"What?" Ianto handed him the bottle.

"The blood. I'm sorry. I'll clean it up."

Ianto rolled his eyes. Jack was many things, but a dab hand with a bloodstain wasn't one of them. "You'll let me worry about that." He pushed a stack of unused medical supplies out of the way and sat down on the table. He stared at Jack's belly, saw the spot where the skin had been torn and jagged was nearly whole again. "What just happened?"

Jack chugged water, his throat working as he emptied half the bottle in one go. "I always get so thirsty when I lose blood."

"Dehydration." Ianto tapped Jack on the knee. "Don't change the subject."

"Well if you want me to get clinical, I'd say I suffered massive internal injuries and exsanguination as the result of being run through with a pointy object of extraterrestrial origin. Although that last part was pure speculation. I didn't get a good look at the knife." Jack coughed and finished the last of the water in his bottle.

"You died."

Jack shrugged and closed his eyes, giving Ianto the impression he was gearing himself up for a conversation he didn't want to have.

"You died." Ianto repeated. He stood and began to pace, hands on his hips, head down, too agitated to sit still, processing Jack's death and resurrection. Recalling details. Damaged clothing. Bloodstains Jack claimed were always the other guy's. Quick healing injuries that Jack put down to superior 51st century genetics. "And it's happened before." Questions bounced uselessly around in his head. How many deaths? Was there a limit or was he like a cat with its proverbial nine lives? Were there injuries too great to surmount? When he finally looked up from his feet and squarely at Jack, his face had gone very pale. "So those references in the archive. The ones going back. Jack Harkness isn't an operative code name. One you've appropriated, I mean. That's really you in the records."

Jack nodded "Yeah. That's me," he said, his tone resigned. "Do me a favor. Make a list of the reports you've found. Clearly, I've been sloppy redacting."

Ianto stared at Jack blankly, facts and observations warring with the laws of nature and reality. Reality was losing in the face of overwhelming evidence. "I think I need a drink."

"Sit down." Jack's voice was stronger, and it held enough of an element of command that Ianto complied. He stiffened when Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but gradually relaxed, accepting the comfort Jack offered. "I didn't want you to find out like this," Jack said, breaking the silence. "But somehow it's not one of those conversations that lends itself to-" he paused and grinned saucily and let Ianto fill in the blanks.

"I take your point," Ianto replied dryly, trying to fathom such a conversation, mentally imagining Jack bringing it up during pillow talk or over the morning briefing, and failing. "Does anybody else know?"

Jack hesitated, picking up Ianto's unopened bottle of water and toying with it. His expression grew closed and Ianto sensed any answer he received would only contain part of the truth. "A few people," he replied at last.

So many questions. Ianto wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answers, it was still too much to wrap his head around. He decided to allow himself one more. "Have you always been this way?"

Jack shook his head. "No. And before you ask, I don't know why, or how, or how many times I can come back. I hope to find out someday."

Ianto drew a breath through pursed lips, absorbing the enormity of the confidence Jack had bestowed upon him, and offered a shaky smile. "Well, there's me knocked for a loop." His expression went serious, no longer containing any hint of levity. "It's your secret, Jack. I'll keep it safe."

'Thank you' seemed trite under the circumstances. So did a kiss. The silence stretched into awkwardness.

Ianto glanced over at the towel still obscuring the last evidence of Jack's injury. "I better get that scrubbed up before it sets. Don't want to upset the others." He gave Jack's fingers one last reassuring squeeze and offered a final small, self-conscious smile, before rising to his feet and collecting the detritus of Jack's misadventure.


End file.
